Shivs and Shindigs Saga of the Incompetent Undead
by SealSong
Summary: A man hated by all who knew and loved truth sacrificed his humanity to gain ultimate dominion. A Drakengard Alternate Universe. Rated M for later chapters involving much gore.
1. Prologue

_Shivs and Shindigs; Chronicles of the Incompetent Undead_

_Seraph is © to me_

_Kaamos is © Drcheerio of DeviantArt_

_Adisius is © Dimitrininjasan of DeviantArt_

_All original characters not belonging to me are used with permission _

_Drakengard, any canon characters, and the scenario minus any original characters/races are © Square Enix_

Prologue

-Caim's pursuit of Verdelet-

The sounds of combat had finally faded away, leaving corpses strewn amidst pools of congealing blood. All signs of life had fled, and the ravens now descended to begin their feast. The One-Eyed man had come and reaped his share of life; his enemy had been felled, and all who stood between him and his target now lay cooling and lifeless.

Suddenly, the harsh voice of a raven rent the air, and the heavy beating of wings stirred the still, rank miasma of death. From the shadows stirred a form, blood soaking robes and skin alike. The figure leant its back against a wall, all its energy spent to move these few feet. In the dim, curdled light, intricate markings stood stark against a bald, smooth head, spattered with blood and gore. The chest was a bloody ruin, rent open by a single swipe of the One-Eyed man's sword. The man with the ruined, gaping chest, raised milky white, near blind eyes to the sky, mouth grasping for air. Slowly, almost hesitantly, one hand reached for his chest, the other grasping a knife. Eyes still fixed on the sky, teeth clenched against the pain; he cut out his own heart. Ancient, dark texts told of how, in times even blacker than these, men would sever their own hearts from their bodies; sacrifice their mortality and their soul for ultimate power over the dead.

To survive, he would do anything.

Even if it meant destroying all that he ever was, and all he could ever be.

Life was still far too sweet for him to give in to Death's wheedling now; no, he would sacrifice his morals and his heart, in exchange for unholy life unending.

Years passed, but they meant nothing to him now. Before, years marked life, now they passed by without any meaning to him. He was timeless, he was ageless.

He took up residence in a dark corner of the earth, and there he brooded his hurts and nurtured his armies of Undeath.

He was timeless, he was ageless, and he was patient.

There was a time for all things, and his would soon dawn.


	2. First Course

_Shivs and Shindigs; Chronicles of the Incompetent Undead_

_Seraph is © to me_

_Kaamos is © Drcheerio of DeviantArt_

_Adisius is © Dimitrininjasan of DeviantArt_

_All original characters not belonging to me are used with permission _

_Drakengard, any canon characters, and the scenario minus any original characters/races are © Square Enix_

Chapter One – First Course

-Ten years after Eris becomes Goddess-

It wasn't a living she would have imagined even a year ago, but it actually wasn't that bad. A little tedious, but tedium was preferable to danger. Manah, the one-time priestess of the Watchers and breaker of the Seals, now eked a living as an herb-woman. Having vowed to never use her innate magics again, for risk of awakening the dormant link with the Nameless, the mage now worked miracles with herbs for the purpose of healing. And, as everyone knew, the rarest herbs worked the best miracles, and thus prompted Manah's expedition to this remote, abandoned villa. Her eyes widened slightly as she caught sight of a particularly fine example of a highly useful herb, peeking out from behind a pile of broken masonry. Clambering over the broken stones to reach the herb, for it had been capricious enough to decide to grow nearer the top than the bottom; Manah had to contend with the unstable nature of a pile of rubble. Having finally bettered the forces of friction and gravity, at least for now, the triumphant Manah plucked the herb neatly from its peaceful life atop the rocks and placed it within her basket, along with other samples of similarly uprooted herbs. Such was the life of a rare and useful herb; they almost had to expect it really, and so none truly bothered to complain. Which is all very well, as their assailants have no ears for the words of herbs, and their displeasure would go unheeded. So, the prize well and truly plucked and within her grasp, Manah began to make her descent, which is when the rubble, friction, and gravity decided to spring their conspiracy. As we all well know, rubble likes to spring surprises upon anyone fool enough to trust it as stable footing. Being rubble is terribly dull, so it likes to get its laughs when it can. It sent Manah tumbling to the bottom, though without braining her or otherwise damaging her too severely; it wasn't malicious rubble, after all. Luckily, Manah had kept hold of her basket all through her assisted dismount, and all the herbs were still safely within its weaved confines. Gravity gnashed its teeth and stomped its feet, but soon shrugged and gave up its tantrum at a reprimanding look from friction. 'Fine', it seemed to say, 'let the damned wench keep her flowers!' And then it said no more. Which was as well, seeing as how friction was getting mighty annoyed with gravity at that moment. Manah, not privy to the inner thoughts of the Workings of the Universe and All Its Forces, simply dusted off her clothes and stood up. Walking forwards a step or two, and a sudden hiss of pain showed that she hadn't gotten away from the rubble unscathed after all. A sprained ankle; a nuisance, but not fatal, or at least, so she thought.

For the Universe likes to play jokes as much as rubble, and thus it was that now she heard a noise; shuffling footsteps, and the sound of mindless, droning groans. Clutching at the hilt of her dagger, Manah limped forwards a few steps, peering round the rubble that had so recently, and so ignominiously, deposited her here. Sucking in a harsh breath, she quickly withdrew again. Shambling towards her was a man. Usually, that wasn't something that would have given her much pause, but when that man is walking on a leg whose foot is turned to face the inside, and his face shows not a sign of pain, discomfort, or even a slight hint of awareness of something slightly amiss, then that was something to pause about. Manah drew her dagger fully from its sheath, and held it ready. Whoever, no, whatever, this man was, she wanted him no closer to her person than she would a very hungry Dragon with a penchant for gobbling former priestesses, which was to say she didn't want that bloke anywhere near her.

Steadying herself, she jumped from cover, dagger flashing once, twice, biting deep into the man's eye and throat. She expected a scream, or at least a look of pain and vague betrayal, but the face remained impassive, even vacant. Though why she should have expected a reaction to pain when she had witnessed him lurching towards her on an obviously broken foot is beyond even the Cosmos to fathom; indeed, if any philosophers or learned men ever heard of this sad series of events, they could debate the finer points for up to an hour before they started repeating themselves and resort to just calling Manah an idiot.

As it were, their hypothetical insults were wasted, as Manah berated herself sufficiently as she was knocked back into the rubble, the man easily flinging her aside with one arm. Now the rubble decided to attack; a large chunk thwacking her on the head, causing her to black out for a few precious seconds while she got her brain back in order. Shaking her head, she realised her brain wasn't playing mean pranks on her; there was now indeed three of the shambling men, all coming at her with vacant eyes and slack-jawed faces.

The herbs in their basket would've flinched away from the ensuing blood-shed and gore, if only they had the faces and capability to do so. As it was, they shuttered their ears to the gruesome noises, and tried to ignore it. Gravity and friction forgot they were annoyed with each other and made small talk to try and drown out the noises of ripping flesh and dying screams.

The rubble, having no-one to talk to, endured being soaked with blood in stoic, unimpressed silence, and hoped it would rain soon and wash the gore away.


End file.
